


Another Life, Another Love (Stucky)

by majesticdragonair



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Fluff and Angst, Getting Back Together, I think?, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, i can't believe that's also a tag, i cannot believe there's an actual tag for that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-09 09:29:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14713512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/majesticdragonair/pseuds/majesticdragonair
Summary: "You pulled me from the river.""So, what.""Why?"..."I don't know.""Yes you do."





	Another Life, Another Love (Stucky)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Bath time](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14659983) by [Wanderlust14](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wanderlust14/pseuds/Wanderlust14). 



> rewatched winter solider - which is probably my favourite marvel movie and felt angsty so i made this. basically canon-compliant from the movie except at the end bucky didn't walk away from the river scene, just collasped. i really wished that happened.
> 
> ps. i'm gay for sebastian stan and chris evans
> 
> title from hail to the victor by tstm

“You pulled me from the river.”

James didn’t want this right now. As soon as he woke up and his stern face, he really wished he hadn’t pulled him from the river.

No. he didn’t mean that. He wished he’d had enough strength to walk away from him instead of allowing his knees to buckle and his eyes close, passing out next to Steve with his hair still dripping and his right arm throbbing. His head throbbed now, and he didn’t miss the way Steve looked away when James glared.

“So, what.”

“Why?”

James’ glare seemed to worsen at him, and he looked away. His arm no longer hurt – the serum no doubt doing it’s work and healing it after it must’ve been broken back into place. His fingers, the metal ones, continued to make a fist and open repeatedly, trying to recreate the feeling of skin instead of cold metal. It didn’t work, but it never has.

James felt his shoulders relax and he didn’t look back over to Steve. “I don’t know.”

“Yes you do."

They didn’t say anything, and then Steve was standing up and leaving James with his thoughts. It took him only a few minutes to fall back asleep, and when he woke up again, with the lights off and the window providing light from the moon, nobody else was around.

He slipped out into the night with no trace, only taking his (now clean) clothes and letter left next to his bed. There was only an address and someone’s initial’s in neat handwriting.

_S.G.R._

-

The window was open.

Why was the window open?

Steve felt a feeling of déjà vu as he raced to his shield quietly, letting the door click shut behind him as he quickly scoped out his apartment. He shivered slightly at the breeze, making his way to the window when he couldn’t see anyone in the bedroom.

Then, a footstep in the hallway. It caused him to slam the window down in surprise, and he darted out to see if he could submit the intruder. He almost didn’t recognize him, raising his shield, letting his body freeze in shock when the intruder caught it. It caused a terrible sounding clang to their ears, and the shield dropped, black glove falling with it to reveal a metal hand, arm covered by the jacket sleeve.

Then Bucky was hurriedly ripping the hat off, revealing the messy brown locks that seemed longer, even if it was tied into a messy bun, some locks framing his face. His cheeks were as sunken in as before, but he looked less pale now, as if he’d gone outside for once. Steve relaxed, before throwing his arms in the air. “Jesus Buck, you scared the life out of me!”

Bucky took a step back, and Steve realised he’d scared him slightly. “Hey, Buck—”

“Can… you not call me that?”

This time it was Steve’s turn to flinch back, because he didn’t expect that, even though Bucky had insisted to call him that as soon as they’d met. He swallowed thickly, ignoring his tight chest and nodding. “No, yeah, of course. What are you doing here…” the next part was almost added as an afterthought. “James?”

James let out an audible breath. Never had Steve seen him so unsure of what to say. “I… your address was on the letter, and I didn’t know what to do?”

Steve nodded, walking back to flick on the lights. Bu- James. James was almost in the same clothes they’d met in, causing him to wince slightly at the flashbacks from nearly a month ago. He was different now – James seemed less deadly, obviously no longer under the control of HYDRA, and more in his own mind, in his own body again, even if it was different.

James now was covering the metal arm, probably to hide himself from the public eye, but he didn’t bother putting his glove back on, instead pocketing it with the other one. Steve got his hopes up; “Do you remember anything?”

James flinched at the words, and he avoided eye contact, looking at his feet instead. He shrugged. “A little. I… went to a few museums. They said we were friends.”

Steve smiled. “We were. Are. If you want.”

James, after a moment to himself in silence, nodded. “I don’t have anywhere else to go. I’m sorry.”

The apology felt heavier than the rest of his words, and Steve knew he was apologising then much more than intruding. Steve forgave him the moment he saw him.

-

James was quiet, and Steve knew that he’d scoped out the place when he got there, because Steve always found him residing in one of the nooks in his apartment, reading a random book off his extensive and growing collection. He made sure to get some books on the war for him, even if he didn’t ask for them.

He never asked for anything, either, and was always thanking Steve for even the littlest of things, like cooking him things or bringing a blanket when it was clear he wasn’t coming closer to the fire in the late evenings. Steve didn’t try and coax him into anything, didn’t try and force him to go shopping with him or to even eat with him.

Which is why Steve was surprised when James shuffled over from the fire escape (Steve thinks it’s his favourite, because he always finds him there) with one of the World War Two books and sat next to Steve. There was still space next to them, reminding Steve of the times when there was never any hesitation between them, but he didn’t push, only smiled widely at James.

James looked like a deer in the headlights. But he quirked his lips slightly in response, before reading again.

-

“Steve?”

He was on his feet instantly, standing next to the fire escape. James was slowly opening a bit now. It’d been over a week now and James had touched him once, a slight press to his shoulder when Steve made a stupid joke. But it was something – because he didn’t expect James to come to him this soon, if at all.

“Yeah?”

James was playing with his most recently read book in his lap, and he noticed it was one of the books Natasha gave him a few months ago, about the Russian Revolution. “Could you… tell me stories?”

Steve was a bit taken aback by the request, but he couldn’t hold back the grin that spread on his lips. “Of course, Buck. But why?”

He didn’t realise the name slipped.

James shrugged. “I feel… guilty? I think? About not being able to remember. And I want to know, because you’re being real nice to me.”

Steve sat next to him, revelling in how James didn’t flinch back. “Well alright. There’s so much I could tell you. Anything in particular?”

-

The first time James screams in his sleep, he doesn’t know what to do.

They’d set up the spare bedroom to fit him better, which was with the mattress on the floor (he didn’t ask) and door constantly closed. He said he hasn’t really been sleeping well, and sure, he’d heard him being restless and saying things in his sleep. They weren’t coherent when in English, and most of the time they were Russian, and he resisted filming it for Natasha to translate.

But he was screaming as if someone was stabbing him in the stomach repeatedly, and when Steve raced in, saw him against the wall and not sleeping, clutching his metal arm as if it was flesh and bleeding all over.

Steve was kneeling at his side, grabbing him without a second thought. God, his neighbours would hate him when the sun rose, but he didn’t care. “Bucky- Shit, no, _whatever_. James, listen, it’s okay.”

James flinched harshly at the touch, but he also moved into it, leaning into Steve heavily. His screams got stuck on his throat and he started choking harshly, gasping for air, and then he was sobbing loudly, shaking.

Steve held him like that until the sun rose, and until James had calmed down and fallen asleep slowly, probably uncomfortable against the wall.

James didn’t come out until the next day, looking both better and worse. He didn’t say anything about it, so Steve didn’t bring it up.

-

“Hey…”

Steve looked up from his phone, watching as James waved his hands slightly. “You used to wear newspapers in your shoes! Didn’t you? Because you were always sickly, and your ma didn’t want you getting cold feet.”

Steve sat up instantly, and he was smiling. He hadn’t told James everything (because he said he wanted to remember as well, or at least try) and they hadn’t really been helpful. “Yeah, I did James.”

James was elated.

-

James didn’t come out the morning Natasha came over, without informing Steve earlier. She’d stopped when she walked in, staring at James, who stared back at her with wide eyes. He looked both better and worse, dressing terribly and looking like he needed a shower. But not ready to kill her so.

She cleared her throat. “Wrong time?”

James had raced to his room after that, leaving Steve to entertain her for the day. She’d curled her hair since, said she was doing it more often. It also looked shorter – maybe it was the curls?

“So, what’s up with your old buddy there?”

Steve sagged. “He just rocked up and- it’s hard. He doesn’t really remember me.”

“Give it time, Steve. He’ll remember eventually.”

-

Other days were harder. Days where James refused to eat or when he did and couldn’t keep it down, or when he glared at his metal arm with such venom in his eyes it hurt Steve. He regretted not jumping after Bucky, because if he lived because of the serum, he could’ve. He could’ve gotten Bucky and taken him back home, and they’d-

“Steve?”

His hands were clenching tightly around the utensils, no doubt getting close to snapping them, and he relaxed, smiling tiredly at James. He looked lost.

He always looked lost.

-

The second time Natasha came around, James was having an off day and refused to come out of his room, even though Steve offered lunch and maybe some fun stories from Natasha, because he was a sucker for those. He didn’t say anything, so he left him alone.

Until, that is, he was fiddling in his room and then a thump into the wall got Steve and Nat’s attention. James swore, loudly, Russian syllables spewing through the apartment. Nat laughed loudly at it, and when Steve knocked on his door, James poked out.

Before he could say anything, Natasha did, still sitting on the couch as she raised her voice to be heard. “Красочный язык.”

James went red, but he came out after that. For the second time, he watched as James laughed, even if it was quiet. He watched those lips spread into a grin he hadn’t seen in eighty years, before the war started, when it was just Bucky and his little Steve, from Brooklyn.

He’d never missed those times more.

-

“Your ma’s name was Sasha…”

He flinched at the way James whispered the words from across the room, probably only being heard because of the echo the kitchen gave. James was chewing on his lip, sitting at the kitchen island, before he clicked his right hand. “No. Sarah.”

Steve nodded, even though James couldn’t see him. “Do you remember much about her?”

James took a while to answer this. “…1936. She… died? I don’t know. You were really sad, and we moved in together after that.”

“Yeah bud. You were very convincing.”

-

The second time James screamed, it was different. It was so much different.

Because he’d been playing with the metal arm, and then Steve saw the way he was bending the fingers on them back to much, and obviously biting his lips to hide the pain he was feeling. He screamed when Steve grabbed him and begged him to stop, holding his arms behind his back.

“No! No- Steve, please, I hate it! I hate it I hate it I hate it- “

He wouldn’t stop chanting that phrase, and Steve could only shake his head and hold him tighter. “No Buck, it’s okay, I’m here. You need to calm down, it’s okay- “

James screamed again.

-

This time, when Steve was hesitantly holding him an hour later, James spoke, voice raw quiet. “I’m sorry…”

Steve shook his head. “No. Don’t you dare, there is nothing to be sorry about.”

James just let him hug him more, didn’t flinch away this time.

-

“I used to really hate the name James, didn’t I.”

It wasn’t a question; his voice was filled with amusement, and Steve laughed a little, nodding. “You never told me why, only to call you Bucky.”

James nodded, sagging into his side of the couch. “I… I think that’s okay, to call me that now. It doesn’t feel weird anymore, to hear that name.”

Steve’s grin grew wider, if possible. “Yeah. Yeah Buck, it’s good to have you back.”

The name sent tingles down his spine.                        

-

“Hey Bucky!”

Said male poked his head through the fire escape, watching as Steve stood up and read whatever was on his phone screen. “Hey, listen, a friend of mine has asked me if we want to move in. Avengers Tower, so we’re all closer when we’re needed.”

Bucky nearly had forgotten about the Avengers, about Steve being Captain America. He paused from answering, because he never used to be that big and tall, and he remembers wrapping his arms around Steve in half hugs, in actual hugs, even just to pull him closer. Before HYDRA, before he only had one arm.

“Buck?”

Bucky twitched and looked at him. “No, yeah, sure. What’s his name?”

“Tony Stark--“

Bucky froze, and suddenly the picture of a man came into his head, one that came up because of that surname. He remembers washing the blood off his metal knuckles, and no, he couldn’t do this. He turned around and went to stalk off.

“Bucky--“

“No, piss off Rogers.”

“…Okay. You know where to find me.”

Later, Steve could hear Bucky tinkering in the kitchen, obviously making something because he refused to eat what Steve made for him. He felt like going out, but just as his hand went to the door knob, he changed his mind.

-

Moving out and into a much bigger space, inhabited by other people was a stressful and downright weird experience. Bucky felt overwhelmed by the people the not only helped, but that lived in the tower, even if it wasn’t as much as the tower could clearly hold.

The first time he met Sam, a bucket of guilt washed over him, because didn’t he nearly kill him? Sam narrowed his eyes at him and yeah, he remembers grabbing his wing and ripping it off not long after. He apologised, and Sam seemed reluctant to forgive him, but he wasn’t glaring anymore. Which was something, he supposed.

He felt weird about not sharing a space with Steve, having given an entire floor to himself. It was less warm, and he couldn’t hear Steve’s steps (even if he was only a floor above the blonde), and he couldn’t smell him. At first, he thought it was because he spent the first month of his freedom living in an apartment with him, but it felt deeper than that.

He remembers Steve telling him they lived together, before the war. He couldn’t help but wonder if that was why.

-

“You’re a great shot.”

Bucky didn’t jump, removing the muffs and laying down his gun to pay attention to Natasha and Clint, who were looking at his target with a type of admiration. He just grunted and shrugged, stepping away to give them a turn.

He admired Clint’s shot, to hit in the heart repeatedly without missing. He admired Natasha, who had quick precision to move from the head to the heart without missing still, only popping her gum to show she cared.

Clint laughed after Bucky’s turn, after theirs. “Man, you’re good, you move quickly, and you never miss. What’s your secret?”

Bucky didn’t answer, shrugging. it was because HYDRA used him as a machine, wasn’t it...? he reloaded the gun and went for another round, relocating the ear muffs to his head.

-

_The man screamed under him as he punched him in the face repeatedly, ignoring the blood that quickly made its way over his bionic fingers, staining the knuckles. He didn’t stop until the man stopped twitching, and he felt a wave of guilt wash over him._

Bucky didn’t scream when he woke up, but he was sweating and breathing heavily. He ignored the computer as he called out to him, rolling over and curling in on himself. His arm felt like it was on fire, like it always did when he woke up after one of these dreams.

When he told Tony, he was instantly designing him a new arm.

“It’s probably deteriorating, so don’t you worry, I’ll have one for you in a few weeks. Now, let me take your measurements.”

Bucky felt regret whenever he looked at Tony, but he ignored it, thanking him.

-

When they were replacing the old arm with the new one, he gritted his teeth at the pain that flared through his body. But Steve was holding his hand, gripping it back as Bucky held it in a death grip.

Afterwards, when Bucky was testing it, he didn’t realise he was crying at how real it felt.

-

_“Get off me!”_

_Bucky only laughed and held Steve down, pinning his arms so Steve couldn’t keep tickling him. “Only if you stop tickling me, you punk.”_

_Steve groaned, but sagged against the mattress, letting Bucky tickle him until he was breathless and nearly in need of his asthma pump, and then they were staring at each other with grins across their lips, and then they were kissing, gentle and smooth and familiar-_

Bucky woke up, sweating, and he kicked back the sheets before beginning to clam down. What the fuck.

-

It kept happening- dreams of Steve, smaller than he was now, lounging in Bucky’s lap and on his side. Or dreams of after the serum, where Bucky would fall asleep in Steve’s arms in the tents, using the cold as an excuse to anyone who saw. It made Bucky feel warm all over whenever he woke up, always with a smile in his face.

However, it was a Sunday morning, and Steve noticed instantly when Bucky walked in that he saw today wasn’t a good day. “Buck?”

He grumbled in response. “Coffee.”

Steve snorted and handed him his own, and the super solider sipped, not caring that it was too sweet for his personal tastes. He drank a few gulps before giving it back, and Steve didn’t push more until he had his own (black) coffee in his hands.

“You wanna talk about it?”

Bucky shrugged. “I’ve been having… dreams. Of the past.”

Steve nodded. “Okay…”

Bucky sat next to him at the kitchen table. Steve looked like he’d just woken up, like Bucky, hair and clothes rumpled. He looked good, and Bucky chided himself for thinking it. “I remember falling off the train. Into the river.”

Steve didn’t speak, so he continued, leaning back and leaving his coffee on the table. “It hurt, I think? I remember breaking my arm, and a lot of blood. And they didn’t find me for so long, and I was so cold. I was hoping you’d come back and get me, and you didn’t, and I realise that’s dumb--“

Steve grabbed his shoulder, shaking him gently. They looked at each other, Steve’s gaze heavy. “No Buck, I know I should’ve, and I’m sorry I didn’t. it’s not dumb, you… god, what did they do to you?”

It was a rhetorical question, something Bucky didn’t have to answer, but he felt the words slipping out of his mouth anyway. “God Steve, I don’t fucking know anymore. It’s so… blurry. I remember killing people, people like Howard and… some black guy in Texas, and people who you would see on the street every day! They turned me into some sort of machine, and I fucking hate it!”

Steve grabbed his arm before he slammed it down, and he gently rested his forehead on the table instead, breathing deeply. Steve scooted closer and held him, letting Bucky fight for a second before huffing and sagging into the table. “You’re okay now Buck, it’s okay.”

Bucky shook his head, brown curls bobbing around his head. “No, you don’t get it. They have words, command words, so I can do whatever they say. I still know them, I know I do, and- and…”

Steve shook him again, so he shut up, listening to the blonde. “I won’t let them do that to you, Buck. Nobody here will, okay? You’re apart of the avengers now, and so, you’re our family. That’s what family do.”

His voice was muffled. “Really?”

Steve was grinning. “Yeah Buck. Now c’mon, join me on my run.”

Bucky groaned, but he could never say no to Steve.

-

Natasha hummed, throwing her legs over Bucky’s lap. He only huffed, but let her do it this time, instead of throwing her off the couch like before. She was grinning, and it reminded him of a Cheshire cat. “Well, Bucky, I think you and Steve had some sort of history together.”

Bucky sunk down slightly. “…Wasn’t that illegal in the early days?”

She nodded. “Yeah, but it doesn’t mean people weren’t always straight. You and Steve must’ve been together. Doesn’t surprise me; he looks at you like you’re the only thing that mattered.”

Bucky blushed, and he shrugged. Natasha groaned. “Don’t you dare not talk to him, you idiot! You clearly had something, and do you like him now?”

His silence caused the Russian to cackle, but he’d made his mind up anyway.

-

Steve smiled at him when Bucky sat on the couch, not touching. He muted the television. “What’s going on, Buck?”

“…I’ve been having dreams.”

Steve sunk down with him. “More dreams… alright, what about?”

“Us.”

Steve froze next to him, his face exploding in a shade of red as he nodded slowly. Bucky almost didn’t understand why he was so surprised, but maybe he’d been hoping Bucky wouldn’t remember. “Care to elaborate?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Steve looked away. “…It was wrong, back then. You and I weren’t meant to be a thing, and if people found out, we probably would’ve been jailed or even worse. It was scary sometimes, because we always had to keep quiet and make sure we weren’t spending too much time together.”

“And you didn’t want me to know?”

Steve quickly registered the angry tone in his voice and shook his head quickly. “I did! It’s just… I didn’t want to guilt you into doing it again, or into thinking you had feelings for me when you really didn’t. I was really hoping you would remember, but…”

“You didn’t think I would,” Steve nodded, and they were silent again.

“Do you remember, when we were twenty, and you were coming home from a dance with a dame?”

Bucky nodded. “I think so. Was that the night that Ms. Smith upstairs thought I brought her home and was having sex with her?”

Steve laughed and nodded. “Yeah. You always made my chew on one of our shirts after that.”

Bucky grinned. “I remember that time you had an asthma attack when we were kissing, and you tried to convince me you weren’t until you nearly passed out. Tried to tell me you didn’t like my kissing that much.”

Steve shrugged, blushing again, tips of his ears redder than his cheeks. “That’s a lie; you were great at it.”

Bucky nodded, scooting closer so he could lean against him. “…Y’know, I haven’t kissed anyone since you.”

Steve’s breath hitched as he continued. “Can I kiss you again?”

“Always.”

So, he did. He leaned up and moulded their lips together, both giggling when their noses bumped and pulling away to laugh. Steve held the back of his neck gently and kissed him again, all soft and smooth, light and slow. He used his right hand to hold Bucky’s flesh one, fingers interlocking tightly. Bucky felt him grin when his bionic hand gripped his shoulder, but he ignored it, pulling away to giggle breathlessly.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, but Steve was smiling like he was the only thing that mattered.

“Love you, jerk.”

“Love you too, punk.”

 

.

.

.

Steve wouldn’t say he was out of practice, because he was still running with Sam and boxing with Bucky, but it’d been so long since he was out here just protecting civilians with a group of people. Clint was an amazing shot, hitting anyone from the roof tops and chipping in through the comms with his better view of the area.

It was a group of aliens who clearly were not happy with this planet already being inhabited, and there was only a dozen, but they were solid and fast and good at fighting. At some point, he had the shield kicked out of his palms and across the road, and now he was hand in hand combat with an alien his fight.

He barely was able to turn on the comms. “I need a little help here!”

Tony was the one to speak first. “Bit busy Cap, how long do you think you can hold up?”

“Not--“ He cut himself off to duck a punch, kicking the being in the chest and causing him to fly. He got up easily. “Long. He just keeps on getting up.”

A new voice cut in. “Five o’clock, sweetheart.”

Steve turned just in time to catch his shield, thrown at him from the angle said, and he used it to block a new hit coming, kicking the alien back. Then, just as it was getting up and charging again, Bucky was there, goggles and mouth piece fitted to his face as he grabbed him around the neck with his metal hand. He let the Captain to kick him to the ground by the head, and this time, he didn’t get up.

Steve smiled at Bucky, breathless. “Thanks, Buck.”

He didn’t respond, keeping with the Winter Solider vibe he had going on, but he shouldered him gently.

**Author's Note:**

> when i first started writing this, i didn't like it and restarted, bc i wanted it to be longer than my usual 1k long fics. but it got to more thank 4k long and idk how i did that in like six hours


End file.
